Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. His fiction and poetry have appeared in various publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Christian Science Monitor, Commonweal, Guwahatian Magazine (India), The Galway Review (Ireland), Public Republic (Bulgaria), The Osprey Review (Wales), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey) and other magazines. Some of his work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html#sthash.OSYzpgmQ.dpbs

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A Limp Others Can’t See

The old mancrossing the streethas a bad limp

we try to ignore.No one wants to look at a limp like that.

We like to thinkno one else can seethe limp we have

the limp we earnedby ignoring little peoplewho get in our way

who strike us asthe litter of life wewant swept away.

Epitome of Grace

They are a certain waycertain ladies are todayno matter where they are

summer, fallwinter, spring even waiting for a bus in rain

to clean hotel roomsan hour awayepitome of grace

Alice’s House

Redbud and dogwood have blossomedabove the tulips and jonquils whereAlice's house used to be.

A possum and raccoon nose around where the garage was before the tornado. An armadillo has joined them.

Someone has hung a red feeder fromthe old clothesline. No hummingbirds yet.Spring has brought new life over there.

A Family Thing

Someone broke in the housethe weekend the elderly couple was out of town, a family thing.

The TV, the couch and computer were gone.Someone took everything. Even the silverware,tables and chairs.

The couple had everything insured except for the newphotos of their daughter.They were in the computer emailed by their son last week.

Kate was all smiles in the photosand the couple wanted to have them printed and framed and hungon the living room wallabove the fireplace.

The weekend of the robberythe elderly couple was out of townat her funeral, a family thing.

Nitwits Like You

She was old alreadywhen you had her in 8th gradeand she said you should sitin the first seat third rowright in front of her forthe rest of the year.

That was half of your sentence for getting caught rolling marbles down the aisleand disturbing the class.

She gave you a choice aboutthe rest of your sentence.You could diagram 30 sentences a night for the rest of the year.Or she could call your father and tell him what happened.Diagramming sounded very good to you.

Ten years later you finished a master’s in English and wanted to thank this nun who had turned a gutter ball into a strike but she was no longer at the school.

Another nun told you she was in a rest home out of stateand you couldn’t call her or visit.You could write but you shouldn'texpect an answer.She was not doing well.

Turning gutter balls into strikesfor more than 30 yearswith nitwits like youhad taken its toll.